The Seeds of Madness Sewn
by Shizuka no Taisho
Summary: He was her servant, and Rilliane was his princess. Her jealousy and petty wrath had been the seeds of madness sewn, and now their thorns threatened to enclose her in a tangled web destroying her happiness. No matter what, he wouldn't let that happen.


_**Because I've been listening to a lot of Vocaloid music lately, I've become inspired, especially after discovering some classical/choir renditions of Servant of Evil over on Youtube. So, I decided to work off that inspiration in two ways. Cosplay, as I am an SOE cosplayer, and fanfiction. **_

_**Obviously the cosplay came first, since I've been slowly adding to my SOE outfit for a while now. I want to get new pants, or maybe knickers, but for now I've just been working on the coat and vest (you can see pictures here: **__**.com/gallery/29964052**__**). I do so adore this cosplay, though admittedly the lack of a Princess at my side does saddens me. Ah well. **_

_**But as much as I love cosplay, fanfiction is sometimes a better outlet for me, simply because I can be more creative. Therefore, this was born. **_

_**I hope you all will enjoy it, and do take a look at the music that inspired it! These renditions of SOE are just fabulous. **_

_**.com/watch?v=lC_V3zYjEdM&feature=bf_prev&list=PL12EA21E080BF48C6&lf=BFp**_

_**.com/watch?v=IMSjtWkVcDY&feature=BFa&list=PL12EA21E080BF48C6&lf=BFp**_

_**.com/watch?v=0qSV9P70CmA&feature=BFa&list=PL12EA21E080BF48C6&lf=BFp**_

_**Author Note: you guys should know that I'm taking the names from the SOE play and etc (ex. Len-Allen/Rin-Rilliane). Why? Because I fucking can, that's why! XD And they sound spiffy. **_

_Disclaimer: Obviously the Story of Evil series does not belong to me. That should be a no brainer. Nor do I own some of the lyrics used in this. Those, because English translated, belong to Coochachu on Youtube. _

The silver serving tray glittered before him on the table, a set of delicate china plates resting at its side, a matching saucers painted in white and gold awaiting the tea it would hold. There were tiny dishes of cream, whipped to perfection, resting beside the tray as well. The princess favored those with her afternoon snack, brioche, a rich little pastry turned gold in a smattering of sugar, butter, and egg wash. Allen was quite used to preparing the treat, since Rilliane did so love it, and he only wanted to please her. Her happy smile always brightened his day.

That wasn't the case today. The sweet bread didn't hold its usual serenity. Instead, he could only stare at the steaming loaf awaiting the cut of a serving knife, which he held tightly in his hand. The handle seemed to cut into his palm, gloves doing nothing to mask the feel of the swirled gold and silver that were little more than idle decoration. Far too fancy for its simple task of cutting a loaf of bread, yet he'd held, and worn, fancier. His clothes were a perfect example. Certainly more elaborate than the other servant and maid uniforms, his displayed a wealth of pearls and rubies, all on order of the Princess Rilliane. He was a servant, dressed up in the riches offered by a spoiled, pampered princess. Normally he had little issue with it all, as he spent no time thinking of his wardrobe. Today though, the thick jacket, golden vest, breeches and boots were sweltering, the gemstones like rocks weighing down his body. And the knife. It felt heavy, and so very cold.

Allen flinched, fingers curling tighter. The trappings of the rich. He was little better than the couch in Rilliane's chamber. Delicately carved of the rarest woods, upholstered in silk and fur, but nonetheless a mere piece of furniture, incapable of performing a task that stepped outside its natural boundaries. He could speak, think, feel, yes, for he was a human being. Even so, he belonged to the princess, and it clearly showed, as if a branded collar were around his neck. Sometimes, he imagined its weight, much more cumbersome than the cold blade in his hand. There was no escaping it. Yet he had no intention of fighting. Let the shackles of servitude weigh heavy on his soul. He would kneel, subjugate himself, do whatever it took to keep standing. Caring for his princess, his darling twin, was forever worth it.

Those words were what he repeated to himself, feeling their poisonous sting each and every time his mind conjured an image of his waiting lady, hungry for her afternoon snack. Beautiful, young, petty, wrathful….

Fingers trembled, and he hastily took control, resuming the task at hand. In the tray's reflection, Allen could see himself lift the blade, cut a thick serving of brioche, and slide it onto a waiting plate of bone china that rested in his other palm. It was like watching himself through a mist of rain. He seemed faded, lifelessness. There was a dull look on his face as he prepared the rest of the tray, arranging the creams and ornate teapot, the napkin folded carefully, mutedly, to display the Lucifen crest. He didn't look like himself.

He feared he never would again.

Tears began to burn in his golden eyes, and he had to fight to keep them back, lest they be seen by any of the other staff. He never cried. Really, he never showed any sense of pain, pleasure, or joy. He was a servant; it wasn't his place. To show tears now would be foolish. The other attendants would have no qualms about reporting his strange behavior to the princess. That couldn't happen. He couldn't ever let her hear of his pain, his suffering. His only task was to keep her happy, no matter the distress it caused others. Himself included.

And as a servant, really little more than a piece of household furniture, how could he allow himself to feel this wallowing pain? He was hers to use, to order and control like a child might a puppet. Only his strings had been willingly given, offered on bended knee that day when he had presented himself to the tiny princess on her throne of gold and ebon jewels. She had smiled, looking at him with bright eyes, and his fate had been sealed. He was hers. He lived to see that beautiful smile, and would continue to do so. No matter the consequences.

Allen grit his teeth, tasting copper as they accidentally caught a bit of his inner cheek. He swallowed, touching a gloved hand to the spot above his heart. That meager pain; it was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. That pain, which flared out of control every time he thought of….._her_. "…Michaela…" Allen murmured, his heart panging. The beautiful maiden, whose eyes had shone like a pearl.

He'd only seen her by accident, traveling across the sea to the neighboring country of green, Elphegort, famed for its riches. Rilliane, ever glutinous for new jewels and pretty gowns, had ordered him there, as it was only his taste that she trusted. He'd been searching for the perfect gift to take back, the weight of gold taken from the citizens heavy in his pocket, when a siren's call had lured him to the town square. And there she'd been. A rose amidst the thorns, with locks of turquoise that flowed over a simple gown of emerald green, the apron of a maid protecting its cheap fabric. Surrounding by children, she was laughing and dancing, her voice rising above the childish glee to reach his stunned ears. She was a maid, yet she was so happy? So free?

He'd known then and there; he loved her. Her beauty, the kindness towards all her kinsmen, drew him in and won his affections. She was a twin to his heart. Yet it was not to be, much as he'd wished otherwise. Allen had quickly learned from the townspeople that the girl, Michaela, was loved by the neighboring kingdom's prince, Kyle Marlon. Marlon, who his beloved princess Rilliane had offered marriage to, as his ocean colored eyes and hair had so charmed her at a ball months before hosted in the kingdom of Lucifenia. But he had denied her, claiming affection for another woman.

That woman was Michaela, the maid who'd stolen his heart, and apparently that of the prince of blue's.

After seeing Michaela, and learning the truth, Allen had known. She was his bloom in the garden of misery, but because of her romance with the prince, she was destined to meet her end. There was no hope of saving her, the maiden who had wooed him on that fleeting trip across the sea. Because his loyalty, and his heart, were in the hands of his princess first. He would do anything to make her happy. Even if that meant sacrificing his own joy, or the woman who had stirred feelings he'd never imagined possible, save for the affection he felt for his princess.

It was jealousy that had been that eventual call to death. While Allen had kept his meeting Michaela a secret, the word of Kyle's denial was quick to reach Rilliane's ears. Furious, she had ordered the slaughter of the kingdom of green, Michaela's home, in hopes of ultimately destroying the maiden who had stolen her love. At first Michaela had been protected from the attack, saved by her master and hidden deep in an abandoned well, the cries of green turning to ash as the kingdom was burnt to the ground, just as ordered by the tiny princess of fourteen. Allen had secretly been relieved for her safety, but that relief was short lived. Rilliane was determined to have her vengeance, and he, as her tool, would be the one through which she would feel repentance for having her love stolen away.

So he'd been called, and, ever dutiful, he came to her and kneeled at her throne, awaiting whatever orders she felt right to give. Then she'd spoken words Allen had hoped never to hear, for their were a agonizing blow to his heart. Rilliane knew who Michaela was, and where he could find her. The dagger she'd offered, encrusted with jewels and far too gaudy for its intended use, much like the kitchen knife, was to be plunged into her chest, ending her life.

He, as her servant, her _tool_, had been ordered to deal that fatal blow.

Allen stared down at the arranged tray of brioche, tea and assorted creams, slowly picking it up. The weight should've been familiar, comforting. Instead, it was a hindrance, and he hesitated with it, almost tempted to call another servant, have them take it before the princess. But that wouldn't do. She trusted only him with her afternoon snack. In a way, it was flattering. She was showing her dependence on him. Yet, that same dependence was a claim. No one else would do, because Allen was _her _servant. They shared a face, and his dedication was solely to her. Rilliane loved that. That was why she used him as her sword, striking down any and all foes that stood against her.

Michaela had been one of those foes; a siren, who, in Rilliane's eyes, deserved punishment for stealing her love. She wouldn't go free. Her home slaughtered, the life she'd known in literal ashes at her feet, it had been Allen who had come before her, yielding the decorative dagger in his hand. He'd seen the pain in her eyes, the sadness. He'd watched that very sadness fade as he sank the blade deep into her chest, holding her body close and smelling salt as the blood gushed forth, smearing his black and golden clothes with rusty red. The blood had flecked his lips, his cheeks, marring his hair in vibrant streaks of ruby. A piece of furniture, decorated in the blood of his master's enemy. How gruesome he must have looked, passing his princess in the deep halls of the palace upon his return. Her horror had been palpable, though she accepted the bloody knife he offered with innocent glee, laughing that delicate laugh of a little girl who had yet to grow into her beautiful new body. It was that laugh he cherished, and her happy smile of content. He would do anything to see her happy. 'I would sin, I would kill.' Sighing, he carried the tray out of the kitchen, heading towards the garden patio doors. He would sacrifice his all, only to see his princess smile. As her servant, her twin, he could do no less.

The painted wooden doors were open, letting in a wash of warm air. Aglow with sunlight, the patio and greenery of the gardens looked almost angelic, white, pink and yellow roses growing everywhere the eyes could see; they climbed trellises, were placed in urns beside the doors, had petals strewn in the decorative fountain that was shooting spurts of glittering water high into the air. The sight was one Allen was quite used to, having seen it most of his young life. Still, it was lovely.

He stepped outside, gulping down a lungful of warm air. Refreshing. The brioche would grow cold if he didn't hurry though, and he hastened his step, moving down the familiar garden path paved in a varying pattern of stones shaped like oblong ovals. They were beautiful, as was the garden in general. The late queen had been very sure about what she wanted to do with the palace, and adding the beautiful rose gardens had been but one of her changes. Personally, Allen was fond of the roses, the yellow ones reminding him of his sister. They were the same vivid topaz as her eyes. There had once been other breeds too, including blooms shaded dark red, ocean blue, and a pale, opalescent green. But after the Prince of Marlon's betrayal, Michaela's death, those had been hastily disposed of. Some red still remained; he spotted a few specks of the darker color amidst the soft pastels. Allen didn't care for those though. Their color was too unnerving, too like the blood he'd spilled.

Allen couldn't help shivering at the thought of it, remembering the sticky wetness seeping through his gloves, and Michaela's gaze growing-no! He gripped the tray tightly, cold metal bringing him back to reality. He'd barely noticed how far he'd come, for the garden was all around him now, forming a wide circle of gently hued roses. In the center, standing tall on a stone dais, was a prettily designed gazebo, the wood carved into tall pillars with a domed roof overhead. Allen saw the painted designs on the arch, a depiction of the Garden of Eden, gold inlaid into the very sun, leaves and blooming flowers. Beautiful. And beneath that domed roof, a tea table draped in white rose pattered silk standing before her, was a young lady of only age fourteen.

Shoulder length hair the color of sunlight was upswept, held in place with a rose pin decorated in glitter, strings of gold and pearls dangling down by her ear. There was lace and feathers too, the former matching her gown's trim around the skirt and bodice. Allen recognized the dress; he'd been the one to buy it, as a gift to his beloved princess. The deep golden yellow color of the skirt and puffed sleeves perfectly matched Rilliane's eyes, and was broken only by the additional black lace and soft velvet making up the gown's front panel. Touching the gazebo floor, the skirt was a tad long on her, but Rilliane liked it that way. Something about having her dresses sweep the floor amused her. Allen didn't question it. It wasn't his place.

"M…Milady…" he took the first step into the gazebo, lifting the tray. Rilliane looked at him, fanning herself with the decorated accessory in her hand. The gems around her throat and in her ears sparkled as she leaned forward in her chair, giving him an impatient frown.

"What took you so long? I thought you'd gotten lost!"

Flustered, Allen placed the tray on the table. "My apologies. Your dessert took longer than expected." He placed the plate of brioche in front of her, followed by a cup of tea in its china saucer. The dishes of creams were set to the left, and he removed the tray, placing the folded napkin gently in her lap. "I hope you'll enjoy it. Today's dish is brioche, your favorite."

Rilliane sniffed, leaning her chin into her palm and sticking out her left hand. "You made it, right? You know I only like your brioche. Nobody else makes it sweet enough."

"Of course, Milady." Allen took her hand, kneeling at the side of her chair. He saw her satisfied smile as he brushed a kiss over her gloved knuckles, the metal of one of her many rings warm against his lips. She was hard to please, on her good days, but seemed to be in a pleasant mood today. Allen had no misgivings as to why that was. There was a pile of notices on a tiny stool beside her chair, the top displaying a familiar countenance with emerald green eyes, and hair like the petals of the turquoise rose. 'Michaela…' his heart thumped, growing hard in his chest as Rilliane picked up the paper and smirked at Michaela's picture.

"No one knows who did it," she simpered, fingers curling in his palm. "Everyone assumes I ordered her death, of course, but there's no proof." Giving a tiny laugh, Rilliane threw the paper aside. "Isn't it grand?"

It fluttered once in the air, then slowly fell to the wooden gazebo floor, landing beside Allen's knee. He felt Michaela's eyes, so bright even on paper, staring up at him, and he ripped his gaze away, the tears again threatening to fall. He had to force them back, a shaky breath exhaled softly, so as to avoid letting the princess hear. "A-very grand, Milady. You must be pleased." Flashes of metal floated before his gaze, silver splashed with brilliant red. Allen swallowed heavily, steeling his spine as Rilliane took her hand away. But there came no shout of disrespect, or punishing slap to the face. Instead she picked up the fork beside her plate, cutting a piece off the still steaming brioche and dipping it into a thick serving of cream, her smile bright, happy. "Is it to your liking," Allen murmured, watching the piece vanish between her petal pink lips. "I added a dash of vanilla, to bring out the flavor. I hope you don't mind…"

Rilliane's smile brightened. "It's delicious!" Eating another bite, a bit of cream dotted her lip, and she carefully blotted her mouth with the napkin, turning that brilliant smile onto him. "I want the same thing tomorrow. You'll make me some more, right?"

As if he had any choice. Whatever his lady wanted, she would have. "As you wish." Allen bowed, taking a stand by one of the gazebo's many pillars. He wouldn't leave until ordered. He'd tried that once, and Rilliane had thrown a fit, screaming at the top of her lungs. There'd been many a servant that had had their eardrums burst that day. "Would you like it with cream, as you had today?"

"Mm!" Gleeful, Rilliane pushed the brioche aside. "I want jam too!"

Allen had to quickly take the dish away, avoiding a mess as she dropped the stack of papers onto the table, rifling through them without a care towards their possible importance. Not all that surprising. Rilliane was only fourteen, and her mind was focused more on the likings of a teenager, leaving hardly any room for politics. Allen tried to offer assistance from time to time, but he was only a servant, and his advice was overlooked. Everyone thought Rilliane favored him, as his face was hers, but it was only out of amusement that she kept him close. He was her tool, after all. "….is there anything else you need?"

Her gaze on the papers, Rilliane lifted a sheet embossed with the Lucifen coat of arms. It was filled with official looking writing, and Allen recognized her signature at the bottom, beside the symbol she used as her own personal crest; a golden rose surrounded by a ring of thorns. "Allen." She rolled up the paper, tying it into a scroll with a bit of black ribbon. "I want you to take this to the Prince of Marlon."

"…the Prince, Milady?" His brow furrowed. What in the world was she planning now? "What matters do you have to attend with him?"

Rilliane scowled, and the scroll was pushed towards his chest, a delicate flush of anger coloring her cheeks. "Not that you have any right to question me, but if you must know, it's a marriage proposal!"

"A-a marriage-but Milady!" Allen paled. "The prince has already denied your offering of marriage!" He looked at the scroll and ribbon. Much like the knife, it felt heavy in his hand. "Surely sending another would only antagonize him? With the dea-" he grimaced, stumbling over the words. "…with the death of his intended, I'm sure the prince is hardly considering marriage right now."

"Don't be ridiculous." A gloved hand closed over his own, forcing Allen's fingers to clutch the tightly curled paper. "That girl was never his intended! She was a maid! No better than a commoner!" Rilliane snapped, "There marriage would've been disgraced in the eyes of the church, and the people." Huffing irritably, she flicked open her fan, glaring at him over the top. "I had you remove that little upstart for a reason, Allen. Now that she's dead, he'll have no choice but to accept me!" She fanned herself, and with a growing frown looked out at the garden. "He has no better prospects, and a marriage would unite our kingdoms. We'd be the perfect match. He has to accept…"

She was trying so hard to convince herself that the prince would have her, Allen realized. He'd known of her jealousy after receiving the order to dispose of Michaela, but had he really realized? Had he ever truly understood the pain that Rilliane felt, having Kyle betray her so? 'All she wants is happiness….' he bowed his head, tears swimming across his eyes. 'The happiness that I was denied.' For there would never be another. Michaela had been his first love, his only love. And he'd killed her, all because Rilliane had ordered him to.

"Milady…." breathing a sigh, Allen placed a gentle hand under Rilliane's chin, turning her face up to his. There was pain in her eyes, pain only he was allowed to see. Rilliane always lowered her defenses around him, letting him see the happy fourteen year old girl she really was, rather than the tyrant princess everyone else deemed her. He knew she could be selfish, and cruel, but when he looked at her, all Allen could see was that beautiful little girl who he'd spent his childhood with. His twin, and other half. No matter if she didn't remember him that way; their bond was unbreakable. He would always protect her, ensure her happiness, even if it meant remaining in the trappings of his station. Or forgoing his own love.

"Allen," Rilliane whispered, clasping his wrist. "He will accept me, right?" Her plead was audible, yearning for closure. She wanted him to say yes.

Allen couldn't deny her. "He would be a fool not to. There is no one more beautiful than you, Milady." Offering her a tiny smile, he pressed a kiss to her fingers. "I'm sure once the prince is finished mourning the loss of that girl, he will come to realize that you are the only one for him. His true princess, and future queen." The words tasted sour on his tongue, like poison. He might as well have been swallowing thorns. But Rilliane looked so happy. Her smile lit up her entire face, and she bounded out of her chair, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Oh Allen, it'll be grand! We'll have the biggest, most fantastic wedding the kingdom has ever seen! There will be roses everywhere, and gold, and jewels…" she picked up her skirts and left the gazebo, her hands clasped at her bosom .Any prior worries were forgotten as she spun in circles, skirts flaring out in a golden circle around her. "Everything will be perfect! Just like a fairy tale!"

"Perfect," he chimed, watching her spin. She looked so happy. Her fears and worries were cast aside with ease, like they'd never existed to begin with. Perhaps it was her station that enabled such a mindset. She was royalty, the country's only princess, and quite used to getting what she wanted. To question that was to incur her wrath, and the passionate rage of a fourteen year old girl was never something to trifle with. Much less a girl who wore the nation's crown. Allen knew that well. Rilliane's wrath had been the death toll to the maiden of green, his beloved Michaela. She'd been ordered to die, and he, the princess' royal servant, couldn't deny her.

Rilliane hardly noticed the slightly downcast look on his face. If anything, she seemed to completely disregard everything around her, save for the mute form of her servant. "Allen, dance with me!" She ordered, and he was yanked off the gazebo by one of her bejeweled hands.

"Ah!" Yelping, he scrambled to right himself. "M-Milady?" He felt her nails clench into the thick material of his jacket at the shoulder, and he hesitantly placed a hand on her waist, searching her face for any sign of irritation. Dancing with royalty, and he a mere servant. It was ludicrous. "Milady, this is highly inappropriate," he muttered, near stumbling as Rilliane started waltzing to music only she could seem to hear, soft sunlight twinkling on the topaz, diamonds and pearls threaded into her silken hair.

"Don't be silly! You're a wonderful dancer," she smiled at him, lifting her skirts. "Come Allen, don't you want to dance with me?"

Allen gave a weak smile in return. "I'll gladly do anything my princess wishes."

Holding her hand, he let her lead him around the gazebo in a graceful twirl, their feet like clouds on the paving stone. They did make quite a pair. But as twins, and both born with a gentle elegance that betrayed their royal blood, it was only natural. However, that blood was sinful, stained black as the thorns on Rilliane's crest. Because Rilliane, his dearest lady, was a thing of contempt to the kingdom's people. He heard their barbed words whenever he went to town. And those words had traveled, reaching the kingdoms across the sea. Ever since the death of Michaela, which everyone knew Rilliane had ordered, no one held any favor for the tiny princess.

She heard no word of it though. The castle offered her shelter, acting as a sort of repellent to any talk of misery. Allen was sure that Rilliane simply thought that if she ignored the anger, the cries for revenge, then she could continue living in her makeshift garden of peace. And he, as a bloom in that garden, was important to maintaining her peace.

It had been her orders that killed Michaela, ruined Elphegort, yet _he _was the one to bring them down. He gave up his freedom, and the one woman he had loved, in order to preserve Rilliane's happiness. He was her tool, her loyal servant. Her smile meant everything to him; he would do anything to see her keep it, no matter if that meant destroying the joy of others.

Rilliane laughed, chattering on about the wedding plans she would make once her prince accepted her invitation of marriage. Allen still held it, clutched between her hand and his. The paper was rough under his gloves, thicker than papyrus, and the ribbon wound around their fingers as they waltzed, binding their hands together. That ribbon felt heavy, much like the knife had been heavy in his hand. Allen understood. The scroll was an instrument of destruction, one constructed by the jealousy and passions of a selfish princess. Rilliane had thrown their kingdom into turmoil, doing everything in her power to have things go her way. Slaughtering thousands, plunging a kingdom into fire, and sentencing a young girl to death, Allen's love. It meant nothing to her. Only her own happiness was important.

"Oh Allen! This is all a dream come true!" Rilliane giggled, looking at him. "I've never been so happy!"

Her laughter was sweet, like the chime of a bell. Allen embraced it, releasing her. "I'm pleased to hear that." The roses surrounding him in blurs of white and yellow, he sank to one knee and bowed his head, her startled smile making his chest flutter. Rilliane was his lady, the one who controlled his strings. Willingly given, and joined by blood, he would bear the weight of her troubles, protecting her from the hells of the outside world. His own tears meant nothing. The death of Michaela was unfortunate, yes, but Rilliane was his princess. His duty was to make her happy, and be her shield against all misery and, if it came to it, danger. Nothing would change that. "Milady Rilliane…" taking her hand, he surprised her by caressing the bedecked fingers with the pad of his thumb, wearing a tender smile that was all for her. "Your happiness is mine. I will do whatever it takes to keep a smile on your face."

The wheels of fate were forever turning. Allen knew nothing good would come of this task, much as he knew that Michaela's death was only the beginning of something dark. Destructive. All around them were the blossoms of gold, but many were thorny, stabbing all those who attempted to pluck them. He was those thorns. Rilliane's servant, he would stand before her, protecting his beloved princess from whatever horrors challenged her.

"Allen…." Rilliane kept her hand in his, and smiled. Allen returned it, holding her fingers to his lips.

"You have me as your faithful servant alone," he murmured, closing his eyes, her happy tittering soft in his ears. If they wanted retribution for her sins, then he would pay the price, taking on her burden, as well as his own. All he wanted in return was to see her smile. That meant more to him than his own life. This tiny princess, a girl with golden hair and a silver laugh, was the most precious thing to him in the entire world. Let her dress him in riches, brandish his collar like he was a dog; Allen didn't care. Furniture, however richly made, had only one reason for existence. He was no different.

Rilliane was his princess. Her jealousy and petty wrath had been the seeds of madness sewn, and now their thorns threatened to enclose her in a tangled web destroying her happiness. No matter what, he wouldn't let that happen. He would fight to stand at her side, and even if everyone else swore her their enemy, he would protect her.

That was his task, and his pleasure, as a servant of evil.

_**Well, I quite enjoyed writing this. It was a tad different, considering there wasn't really a pairing behind it all. It was just Len/Allen, expressing his feelings for Rin/Rilliane, and his lost love Miku/Michaela, all in his guise as a servant of evil. And I couldn't have done it without the inspiration of the music I listed at the beginning of the story. Honestly guys, those three songs are some of the prettiest versions of SOE on the web. I highly suggest checking them out. **_

_**Using the play names was a new challenge too. But since this song has a mature feel, especially in Coochachu's version, I wanted to use names that were more befitting that general feel, such as Rilliane and Allen over Rin and Len. To me, it added a regal aspect to the story. I also deviated from the original plot a bit, since Mothy's lyrics aren't as descriptive when it comes to the nitpicky details, like: when did Rilliane and Kyle (wtf name for Kaito XD) actually meet? So, I went with my own version of events. Hope no one minded!**_

_**Well, that's everything! Please leave a review/comment! 3**_

_**~Az**_


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